


on the other end of the line

by joisattempting



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Developing Friendships, F/F, First Meetings, Is this ooc? Probably, New York City, No Angst, cordelia has some kind of accent lmao, the 1870s that is, the 70s man, this is like the victorian era but not in london, this was gonna be titled ‘princess and the pauper’, yes like the movie sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisattempting/pseuds/joisattempting
Summary: charlotte is a prim, proper lady from the wealthier part of town. the slums of the lower east side are all cordelia has ever known. what happens when they cross paths?
Relationships: Dr. Charlotte/Cordelia (Falsettos)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	on the other end of the line

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> i came up with this idea yesterday while on the search for writing prompts after the tragic death of the college au  
> the funeral’s at two everyone, all are invited
> 
> anyway, this idea is kinda cliche and probably overdone, but i wanted to write something solely based on the lesbians for a change, and i thought this could be cool! yes, it isn’t college au unfortunately, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)
> 
> comments and kudos are really really appreciated, reading them makes me happy <33

The grand house was in an uproarious frenzy. Numerous servants and chefs and housekeepers clamoured and bustled about each floor, expeditiously trying to get everything ready on time. Charlotte DuBois watched in awe as people shoved past her, screaming with urgency about plates and carpets. Her father stood beside her, one hand on her shoulder. 

“Are you excited for the ball, Charlotte?” he asked her.

The girl snapped out of her reverie. “I don’t know. There’s all this pressure on me to be proper and everything. What if I don’t do it right?”

Mr DuBois chuckled, rubbing the girl’s shoulder. He was no stranger to his child’s qualms about sensibility and gentility. Admittedly, learning the ways and mannerisms of a lady in the eighteen-seventies had been no easy task for her; she’d trip when she curtsied, let the teapot slip from her grasp when serving tea, and slouched at the table. Frankly, he didn’t blame the girl for her apprehension. Yet she’d learned, and, now that she was sixteen, it was high time to put her newfound knowledge to the test. “Mrs Appleton from your lessons says you’ve made splendid progress. I’m sure you’ll be fine, darling,”

Charlotte let out a sigh of relief, wrapping her arms around her father. “Thanks, Papa,” she said, allowing him to caress her cheek. 

“Of course, sweetheart. Now, I have a job for you,” he said, smiling fondly at her immediate enthusiasm. The girl thoroughly enjoyed travel, and took immense pleasure in discovering and exploring the New York that stretched past her doorstep. “Can you go to the bakery in the square, and get two bags of flour? The Browns only just told us they’re coming, and I doubt there’ll be enough scones for anyone else if they’re bringing that Andrew of theirs,” 

Charlotte understood, for Andrew, informally known as Whizzer, was her best friend. Her best friend, who’d wiped her cupboards and freezer of any and all Thanksgiving leftovers back in November, and left with his tailcoat no smaller than when he’d first arrived. In actuality, it looked like it’d gotten larger on him. Sometimes, she really couldn’t understand the boy. 

And so, with a farewell from her father, she tied her bonnet under her chin and fastened her cloak, before venturing out into the blazing winter with a basket in hand. 

The problem was, Charlotte wasn’t exactly the handiest with directions. What had originally started out as a brief trip to the bakery, ended up being a long, treacherous journey. The ball was nearing, and here she was, running around New York in her day dress, while her gilded ball gown chosen by her mother collected dust in her room. 

How she’d ended up on the Lower East Side, with its crumbling buildings and street thieves, Charlotte didn’t know. 

Warily, she surveyed the street she walked down, pulling her cloak tighter around her. She was always told to steer clear of the area. Out of protection, of course, but she’d always wanted to know what it was like. Now that she’d gotten a brief taster, all she wanted was to return home. 

The sudden barking of a snarling, vicious dog nearly made Charlotte jump out of her skin. It appeared to have something in its mouth as it hurtled past her in a blur of smokey grey. But what she hadn’t anticipated as she composed herself was the figure barrelling into her at full speed. Tumbling to the ground, she let out a squeal, coins for the bakery spilling and skittering across the dirty cobbles. 

“Shit, I’m awful sorry!” said a panicked voice, high-pitched and somewhat squeaky. Flinching at the curse, Charlotte took the hand that was outstretched in front of her, pulling herself up. The voice, she found, belonged to a girl. 

She was tall, taller than Charlotte, and even skinnier than Whizzer. Her hair was blonde, and tied in two small braids with shorter pieces sticking out at the sides, wisps and strands falling in inquisitive blue eyes. Charlotte was more than surprised to see her wearing trousers and suspenders, stopping below the knee with a frayed hem. The grime that caked her face, the calluses and scabs on her knuckles, and the dialect was all that was required to deduce that she was from around there. 

“It’s… it’s okay,” she said awkwardly, fiddling with her bonnet’s ribbon. Something about this girl enticed her. Whether that be her disheveled state or the excitement of meeting someone of the slums, Charlotte didn’t know. “Why were you running, if I may ask?”

The blonde sighed, pointing towards the direction the dog had run in. “That fuckin’ dog took my lunch. Spent my last couple pennies on it, too,”

A pang of guilt bloomed in the other girl’s chest; she didn’t even have the money to simply replace what the pitbull had stolen. It wasn’t as elementary as asking her father for a dollar. Conflict attacked Charlotte’s stomach like a bull. Maybe she had a thing or two to learn from this girl, whose name was still unknown. 

And then, she had an idea. “I have, uh, a dollar or two, if you want me to get you something,”

“Ah, I couldn’t. ‘S what I deserve for being careless, I s’pose. Besides, you probably need it for somethin’ more important,”

What the hell, she decided. Whizzer could have the scones. He did every year, after all. “I insist,” she pressed. “I’m not going to let you starve,”

“Thank you. Means a lot, honest,” The girl’s grimy features creased into a widespread smile, and she shook her hand vigorously. “I’m Cordelia. But my da’ calls me Dee, ‘cause my proper name’s too long,”

“Dee,” Charlotte tried the name out, liking its simplicity. “I’m Charlotte,”

“Can I call you Charlie?”

Tilting her head slightly, she smiled. “Sure. Now, where can you get food around here?”

Eagerly, Dee took her arm and led the way, and Charlotte found herself making easy conversation, as though they were old friends. She was fifteen, turning sixteen that April. Stopping at a cramped deli, they conversed, Dee devouring a pastrami on rye in record time. Charlotte spoke of Whizzer, her parents, the snobbish girls at her lessons, and listened eagerly to her tales of her big brother and her close friend Marvin. Time flew by without either girl noticing.

Suddenly remembering the ball, Charlotte checked her wristwatch, a gift from her grandfather for her birthday. “Oh! I, um, should be going back. There’s this party, and I’m supposed to be getting ready,” she mumbled regretfully. “I’m sorry,”

“No worries. Can I walk you back? I’ve never been to the good part of town,”

“Of course. That’s if I can get out of here without getting even more lost,”

Eventually, after wandering into alleyways and finding multiple dead ends, Charlotte and Dee found the large, looming DuBois house. Blue eyes wide, the latter gawked and clutched the arm of the former. “It’s huge. How d’you know where everything is?”

“You can see it, if you’d like. My friend Whizzer is coming over tomorrow, he’d love to meet you,”

If it was possible, her eyes grew wider. “You mean it? Gosh, I’d-I’d love to. So long as it’s alright with your folks, of course,”

“Don’t worry about it. They think I need more friends, anyway. Whizzer’s the only one I’ve got,”

How it happened, neither of them could say, but they found themselves embracing. Right there, as snow drifted into Dee’s plaited hair and Charlotte’s itchy bonnet. It was somewhat unusual, meeting someone on the opposite end of the poverty line, but the kind of unusual that left you hungry for more. Both of them had a notion. A notion that they’d be friends for a very long time.

“It was real nice meetin’ you,” Dee said sincerely, once they pulled away. She knew she had to head home, but something in her made her long to stay. 

“You too. Thank you for running into me, quite literally,”

The blonde chuckled. “I’ll see you around, Charlie,”

And with that, the girl named Dee with the cropped blonde braids ran through the thick snow in her battered boots with the broken soles, completely oblivious to the lighthearted feeling of overwhelming happiness that filled the entirety of Charlotte’s body. 

  
  
  


_ fin.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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